Page 25 of Always Murder

Indira composed her face into smoothness.

Fox’s mouth tightened with a hint of sourness.“Keme?”

“Yeah, she doesnotlike him.And if this is a passive effort at getting rid of him—which it kind of seems like it is—then I’d hate to see what happened when Christine brought out the big guns.”

“Did Keme—” Indira began.She stopped herself.Her hands were very still around her mug.“How is he?”

“I mean, he hasn’t tried to cut her hair while she was asleep or climbed on her back and used her ears to steer her.”(Both of which, I feel the need to add, he had done to me.) “He’s been pretty quiet, from what I can tell.Even for Keme.”

“A quiet boy without a prestigious career, without even the prospect of one, who makes zero effort to schmooze the mother,” Fox said.“If Christine weren’t trying to get those two serpents out of her nest, she’d be boiling in her own rage.”

“I think she might be doing a little boiling already,” I said.“It’s so weird.I mean, most of the time, she acts like Millie’s not even there; why does she care who Millie dates?”

“Because Christine wants to control everything,” Fox said.“And Keme doesn’t fit into her plan.”

Indira set her coffee down.“That’s not fair.People are complicated.I’m sure Christine loves Millie deeply and is worried about her.She doesn’t know Keme except for stories she’s heard around town.He’s not like the young men her other daughters bring home.I’m not saying she’s right, or that she’s acting appropriately, but she’s not a monster.”

I stared at her.“This is Keme and Millie we’re talking about.”

“I know, Dash.”

“It’s not fair.”

“No, it’s not.”

“I don’t want to sympathize with her as a human being.I want to talk crap and point out all her failings and pretend I’m perfect.”

As Indira stood, she patted my shoulder.“Life is full of disappointments.”

I had a response to that—something about Indira challenging Christine to pistols at dawn—but before I could say it (probably for the best), the back door opened, and Keme stepped into the house.His hair was down, wet from the fog, and where the light bent along one long, dark wave, it had an iridescent shimmer.He looked at each of us, shoved his hands into the pocket of his hoodie, and headed into the kitchen.

We watched him go.

For a moment, in his wake, Indira’s façade cracked, and a hint of heartache showed.

Fox snapped his fingers at me and hissed.

“What am I—” I began.

“Get in there,” they whispered furiously.

It wasn’t fair.Indira was a mature, responsible, emotionally stable adult.And Fox was so much older than me.

But Fox kept staring at me.And Indira looked so sad.

I dragged myself into the kitchen.

Keme had pulled a plate of sandwiches from the fridge, and he was transferring what looked like the bulk of them to a separate plate.His shoulders were high and tight, his body rigid—pretty much all the signs that he knew I was there and was hoping I would spontaneously combust or get picked up by a tornado and dropped in Oz or, maybe ideally, drop dead on the spot.

“Hey,” I said.

He dropped a final sandwich on his plate, returned the rest of them to the fridge, and headed straight for the door.It was simultaneously defensive and combative—shoulders slumped, cradling his food, eyes fixed on something behind me, but walking with a grim determination like he was going to plow through anything, including me, that got in his way.

“I was wondering if you wanted to play Xbox—” I began.

“Move.”

Ladies and gentlemen: I moved.

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